Paying the Price
by susieq666
Summary: We all pay the price for our unwise decisions. The victims of Miami's latest killer. And maybe even Horatio himself.
1. Chapter 1

PAYING THE PRICE

Chapter 1

Horatio sat in his office, right leg cocked over his left knee, and, careful that no one was watching, rubbed his right side.

Eric had caught him doing it earlier and raised an eyebrow.

"My war wound's playing up."

He said it jokingly, but it was true – a deep throbbing ache, that he couldn't really attribute to anything other than the old bullet wound. Unless he was heading for appendicitis or something. It wasn't serious. It wasn't even constant. Just niggling… Yet the shooting had been over twelve months ago.

_He hardly remembered being shot. Well, he remembered the shot itself – like a vicious punch in the gut that had folded him to his knees; the feeling of blood running down inside his clothes; breath-grabbing pain; then an engulfing weakness, that made him want to curl up on the concrete and sleep… Except he hadn't had the chance… He had no clear recollection of diving in to rescue Natalia. The cold water must have dulled any pain. He knew he had struggled to get her out. Obviously he had succeeded, but he remembered only running out of air, the distress of inhaling water instead… then blackness… _

_He had been conscious by the time they reached the hospital. Not even in that much pain. The bullet had gone into a fleshy part of his belly, missed all vital organs, and tried to exit his flank. A ricochet, most of its power spent, it had lodged just under the skin. A tiny incision, and they'd retrieved it – a fragment, not even a whole bullet. What he remembered most was the amount of blood – a lot for such a mean projectile – and the effort of trying to breathe, while his lungs still felt half-full of fluid._

_What else? Arguing with the doctor, of course… He was pissed at being caught in an ambush. Checking himself out, going after North and Toller. And he had felt okay – shocked, shaky, and breathless, but not that bad. He had every belief that he'd feel better as the day went on._

He rubbed his side again. The discomfort had started about a week before. A small sharp pain if he turned a particular way. And this dull ache, that spread when he was tired, encompassing stomach, back, groin, his right leg. The wounds had healed properly – he'd checked that first – small white scars, no sign of infection or anything. He could feel the whole of the wound track, a slight indentation under the skin, and it wasn't there that it hurt. He had a sneaking feeling that there might still be a piece of metal inside him. The bullet had fragmented. It was perfectly possible that there was more of it. Had he been X-rayed? He couldn't remember, but he thought not. With a wry smile, he thought he had probably been in too much of a hurry to get out of the hospital. And he had been hit only once, so any fragmenting would have happened afterwards, despite no bones being involved… Or two fragments had entered together… Both scenarios fairly unlikely, though possible.

He pulled his thoughts back to the present, put his right leg back on the ground, and switched on the computer. He needed to concentrate on assembling the evidence for a case due in court the next week. It was important, necessary, but not that interesting. He stood up to get some coffee, and flinched slightly – again that little stab of pain. He tried to decide whether it was getting worse… but probably not. Some days, he didn't feel it at all. Today, he just hadn't got much else to occupy his brain. _Thinking too much, Horatio…_

He had been working for almost an hour when his phone rang.

"Frank?"

"Got a body in Lummus Park. You want to come?"

He was grateful for the break. "See you downstairs. How can you hide a body in Lummus Park? It's like a freeway…"

"Didn't say it was hidden…"

The police tape surrounding the body was holding back a considerable crowd, but that was to be expected in South Beach, even off-season. The body of a young girl, clad only in a bikini, lay on the grass. She seemed unmarked, her face peaceful.

"She looks asleep…" Horatio mused.

"Everyone thought she was," Frank added. "Until someone tried to wake her…"

"Which 'someone'?"

Frank gestured. "Young man over there… He says he doesn't know her. Just thought she was 'hot'…"

"Only she turned out to be cold… which must have been a shock. Do you believe him?"

"Yeah, I do."

Horatio knelt beside the body, looking, but not touching. Neither would he – touch – until the medical examiner had had a look. "Is Tom on his way?"

"Yes, should be here any minute."

Horatio nodded, stood up and approached the young man who stood miserably beside a uniformed officer. "You found her, son?"

"I just went to… talk to her… I thought she…"

"Looked hot, right?"

"I didn't know she was dead! Hell, we've been just over there all morning and she was just lying there!"

Horatio agreed with Frank. "Give your details to this officer." He looked round as Tom Loman bustled into view, then turned back to the young man. "Then you can go. We'll probably need to talk to you again. Are you here on vacation?"

"No, I'm at Dade U."

Satisfied that their witness wasn't likely to disappear, Horatio walked back to the body.

"Tom…"

"Horatio… Busy place for a body dump… Mmm… Rigor's just setting in…"

"Rough time of death?" He watched the doctor take a liver temperature, and make a mental calculation.

"Nine this morning… or thereabouts."

Frank murmured. "Fits in with the witness – he said she was there when he and his friends arrived."

"So, Tom… Was she dumped here? Or simply died here?" He knew he wouldn't get an immediate answer.

"Can't tell, but it looks like single lividity… so she probably hasn't been moved." He rolled her onto her side. "No obvious wounds." He looked up at the noisy crowd behind the tape. "I think I'll take this poor lady somewhere more private…"

"I agree, doctor." Then he smiled as Eric bent under the tape and joined him.

"What have we got?"

"Don't really know, Eric. Tom's going to remove the body. We'd better go over the area… though I somehow doubt we'll find anything… Frank, any other witnesses?"

"Not any that are admitting it."

"Okay… Can you post an officer to keep the area secure? We'll go over it now, but in case we need to come back…"

Frank went to make arrangements, Tom and his assistant removed the body, and Horatio and Eric stood looking at a bare patch of grass. There was nothing obvious there. They started what was virtually a finger-tip search of the area. It was hot and humid, and, before long, both were running with sweat. They found very little.

"This park's cleaned morning and evening," Eric said, wiping his face on his arm. "Might give us a rough timeline…" He pushed aside some longer grass. "Oh great – a used condom!"

Horatio chuckled. "Bag it. I've got some chewing gum – chewed chewing gum… It's a public park – what do you expect?"

After an hour, they drove back to the lab. The crowds, with nothing to see, had drifted away, but the area would stay cordoned off for the time being. Horatio went to change his shirt, then headed to the morgue, where Tom was working on the body.

"Nothing yet, H", he said. "I don't think she was moved. I can't see any injuries on her – a little bruising round the mouth and nose… My best guess is asphyxiation, but I've also sent samples for a tox screen. Other than that, she's young, healthy…"

"And dead. Any sexual activity?"

"Recent intercourse, I think, but no indication of assault. And no semen, so he used a condom…"

"We found a condom at the park – doesn't have to be the right one…" Horatio mused. "Okay… Keep me posted." He stood looking down at the girl. "Did you take a good picture of her face? I need to see if we can get an ID."

Mentally, Horatio ticked off the processes; finding the cause of death; analysing any DNA, both on the body and on the items retrieved at the site; checking fingerprints, though he had little hope they were in the system; and a photograph… He took it to Frank.

"Can you put this out with your patrol officers? See if we can get an ID?"

"Bit of a long shot…"

"I know, but I'm stuck for ideas. She's probably not in missing persons – she only died this morning… I mean, someone might report her later… I'm clutching at straws."

"Okay – I'll do what I can."

Horatio walked over to find Eric. "I hate these cases," he said. "No ID. No definite cause of death. Not really a single clue."

"They'll emerge." Eric said reasonably. "'Specially when we get cause of death."

"I know… It's just these first hours… When we don't know anything."

Eric nodded, recognising his boss's usual impatience. Then he said cautiously, "Were you serious, this morning? About your war wounds?"

"No, not really. It just aches sometimes… It's nothing, Eric, honestly." He glared at his colleague. "And don't you dare mention it to anyone."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

PAYING THE PRICE

Chapter 2

Having dismissed his aches and pains as nothing important, Horatio unexpectedly found himself unable to sleep that night. The niggling pain would not go away. Grovelling about on hands and knees in the park hadn't helped. He eventually managed to drop off with the help of a couple of codeine. He hated taking the stuff, but he was tired and knew he needed the rest.

By the next morning the pain had eased to a dull ache, but the sleepless night had convinced him at least to arrange an X-ray. When he had time. Meanwhile, there was his Lummus lady…

Tom had some news – a cause of death. The tox screen had shown nothing but a considerable amount of alcohol. The ME was convinced she had been asphyxiated.

"There were no marks on her, were there?" Horatio asked.

Tom hesitated. "I think, Horatio, she was kissed to death."

"What?"

"I know. I'd have said it was impossible, but there are no handprints or ligature marks on her. There are bruises round her mouth, which have become more apparent – they look like lip and teeth marks… It looks as if… well, as if she was kissed very hard." The doctor looked as if he hardly believed what he was saying.

"Is that even possible? I mean, you'd have to breathe… And she could breathe through her nose…"

"Well, I thought about it… If a strong person breathed into her mouth and pressed down. If they could hold their breath longer than her… There were bruises on her nostrils… so they could have been pinched…"

"That's grotesque!" Horatio snapped, his face hard.

"I agree."

"Could it have been an accident?"

Tom shrugged. "That's more your line of enquiry than mine. Although… as there was no DNA round her mouth, her assailant obviously wiped her down. Which sounds guilty."

"Or panicked. Though not calling 911 sounds guilty. I've never come across anything like it… And I thought I'd seen everything." He walked out, shaking his head in disbelief.

He sat down in his office and did a quick recheck of missing persons reports. Nothing… He was frustrated. From long experience, he knew the case would unfold, reveal its secrets, in due course, but it didn't stop his impatience.

In the absence of anything better to do, he picked up the phone to the PD doctor; a doctor he normally saw only once a year, for a routine check-up. He explained his problem.

"And you think it's connected with your shooting?" The doctor didn't sound convinced.

"Don't know, do I? But it's the same area… It's not bad, just niggly."

"It's probably nothing serious – just a tissue adhesion or something… But I should take a look at you."

"I was hoping… you could just book an X-ray for me."

"Why?" The doctor sounded surprised. "You think they've left something behind, don't you?"

"They could have. It just… sort of… feels like it." He knew it sounded lame, yet his instinct told him he was on the right track.

"Come and see me anyway – soon as you can."

He rang off, feeling a bit of a fraud. He felt his belly and side gently, then more firmly. Nothing. No pain at all. Well, he'd see the doctor when he could. Meanwhile, he walked down to the police department to find Frank.

The detective said quickly, "I've got nothing, Horatio…"

Horatio shrugged. "Neither have I. I really want to know who she is."

"Well, I've told my guys to ask around, wherever they are – hotels, clubs… I've sent someone down to Dade U… But it's a needle in a haystack… I could put out an appeal for witnesses at the park. I mean, that place is never deserted… But it may warn the killer – send him into hiding. And we could put her picture in the paper."

"Tom says she was kissed to death."

"What?" Frank's eyebrows went up.

"That was my reaction." He explained the ME's theory. "But it may mean she was in the park with her killer for some time. Someone probably witnessed it happening."

Frank chuckled. "What do _you_ do if you see a couple making out in public?"

"Arrest them? No… Look away. Avoid them."

"So we're not likely to get a description. What we really need is a perv, who sat and watched. Better still, took photos."

Horatio laughed. "We should be so lucky. Yes, put out an appeal. As you say, Lummus Park is never deserted. Someone will have seen something, though they almost certainly didn't realise what they saw. We'll hold off on the photo for another day, in case she's reported missing – not a good way to find out your daughter's dead." He stood up. "Thanks, Frank."

"Kissed to death, eh?" He shook his head.

Eric was the only one who seemed unsurprised by the cause of death. In fact, Horatio could have sworn he looked embarrassed.

"Eric? Have you come across this before?"

"Not exactly."

"Come on. Talk to me." Now he _knew_ his colleague was embarrassed. He even seemed to be blushing.

"It was something we did… when I was younger… We called it Beso de la Muerte - Kiss of Death, to you."

"You kissed people to death?"

"No, of course not! We just used to… well, try to make a girl pass out… The girls were happy to play along, to prove that we couldn't… I'm not proud of it, H!"

"I should think not. Go on, tell me more."

"Nothing more to tell. You just… well… kiss… and don't let up… It's very difficult to make anyone pass out," he added defensively.

"I would imagine. I must have led a very sheltered life… Were you good at it?"

"Not very. I used to laugh."

"Well, I'm glad to hear that, at least." He hid a smile. "And is it still… a current practice?"

Eric chuckled. "I've no idea."

"You'll have to show me." At Eric's look of alarm, he laughed. "Not _on_ anyone, you fool. We'll get the first aid dummy."

"Do I have to? You just pinch the nostrils and kiss… One or two could do it without pinching the nose…"

"It can be done without?"

"If you're big enough… Or your mouth is… H, this is embarrassing."

"I'm sure it is. But it's helping the case."

"You're enjoying this!"

"Well, it's rare to see you embarrassed… Come on, we all did things in our youth. Go and get the dummy. I need to see." As Eric turned reluctantly towards the door, Horatio murmured, under his breath, "Kiss of Death, indeed…" When he thought about the macho atmosphere of young Cuban manhood, he could quite imagine such a pastime. He had to admit, he got a faintly sadistic pleasure out of tormenting Eric, but he did see how the mode of death was just about possible.

The following day, he got another of his answers – the ID. A young woman reported that her friend had not returned to their hotel, after a night out. Two days before.

"I thought she'd just met someone…" the girl said.

"Did she have a regular boyfriend?"

"Not when she's on holiday. Different guy every day. I expected her to turn up for fresh clothes though."

"Ma'am, I have to tell you… We've found a body…"

"Oh, I know that – I saw the appeal. That's why I came in."

Horatio raised his eyebrows. "You don't seem very upset."

She shrugged. "We weren't _good_ friends. We just shared a room to save money. And, well… she was always picking up guys… Sometimes she brought them to the room. I mean, that's not on, is it?"

"So you're saying what? She deserved it?"

"I suppose not. Anyway, it might not be her."

"No, that's true. Are you willing to try to ID her?"

The girl identified Carol Sangster, and, with some reluctance, gave up what she knew about the girl's family. "Can I go?"

"You can." Horatio was slightly repelled by her. "Don't go far." He didn't think she knew anything, but he didn't want her too comfortable.

But she gave him a bold smile. "Oh, I won't. I've got another week's holiday."

_I'm getting old,_ he thought. Kissed to death, and 'friends' who couldn't give a damn. With a sigh, he set about one of his least favourite tasks, contacting the parents. He was used to all sorts of reactions when people received that sort of news, but he rarely encountered indifference. Which was what he got from the girl's mother. _What a very unloved person you were, Carol…_

Deep in thought, and rather depressed, he went back to the morgue. The girl at least deserved her name.

The ME looked up.

Horatio gave him a rueful smile. "She's called Carol Sangster, she's nineteen, and, as far as I can tell, no one is the slightest bit grief-stricken that she's gone. It makes me want to lose my faith in human nature, Tom."

"Life seems to have become very… superficial… Being friends means a tick on Facebook. People are changing, and not for the better."

"I agree. Nothing new on her, I suppose?"

"I've got everything I can – I've completed my report. I've had to move on to these two…" He indicated the two bodies on the tables. "Car wreck – nothing for you to get involved in."

"Is it safe to release her body?"

"I would say so. Is someone collecting her?"

"Reluctantly. Her mother asked if we couldn't just 'ship it back'. I told her she needed to come and show ID, and sign something. Not strictly true, but she pissed me off. Actually, I said a good deal more than that."

So that was that… Carol Sangster's body had given them no clues, apart from a bizarre mode of death. Any DNA found at the site had thrown up no matches on the database, and, in fact, no connection to the body. And, in the middle of one of the busiest parks in Miami, no one had apparently witnessed a young woman losing her life. Frank's appeal had predictably brought in weirdos, psychics, and busybodies, but not a single credible witness. He would run the picture in the paper, in the hope of flushing out more information, but, for now, there was little more he could do.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

PAYING THE PRICE

Chapter 3

"I thought you were coming to see me." The doctor's call caught Horatio by surprise.

"I will, but I'm busy. I'll come when I can." He felt oddly defensive. "It's not urgent, is it?"

"You phoned me, remember? Seriously, Horatio, if there is anything wrong, we ought to find out."

"It seems to have settled down."

"Okay, up to you. I can't insist, but I'd like to clear you. I'll even get you that X-ray."

"Thanks, doctor. I'll try to make time."

He wished he could just order up an X-ray, as he ordered up any test in the lab, but accepted it would be pointless. The X-ray would need interpretation from an expert. And, if he was right…

_He found himself thinking back to the shooting. How he had crawled through that day in a haze of pain and breathlessness. Rejecting everyone's help, because it was the only way he could deal with it. How effective he had been, he had no idea. They had caught North without difficulty, but not before he had realised that, far from improving, his body was giving up on him. He had counted the hours as they went after Toller. The hours before he could get home, to bed; nurse his damaged and failing body. He knew it had never occurred to him to stop nor to go back to the hospital, but taking Toller down had almost finished him. Only Eric's timely arrival had saved the arrest from going south, as he himself had hit the deck. He couldn't remember the next five minutes, not certain whether he had actually passed out. He remembered Eric's arms round him, holding him, helping him sit up, and begging, __begging__ him to go to hospital. _

_He hadn't, of course. Stubborn to the end… Back at the lab, he had struggled against faintness, nausea, and, worst of all, breathlessness. Eventually he had sought the fresh air, hoping it might be easier to breathe… Another half hour… see Toller charged… then he could escape. He recalled trying to talk to Renee Locklear, without really knowing what he was saying… something about Marisol… while his hearing came and went, and blackness edged his vision. Embarrassingly, but fortunately, Renee had realised what was happening, put him in her car, and taken him to hospital. And this time he hadn't protested, because he was, quite simply, beyond it. Had she not 'rescued' him at that moment, he would have been unconscious on the steps of his own lab._

He felt foolish even thinking about it. But he had healed quickly, and assumed it was all over. He really didn't want to resurrect it now, but the discomfort of the last couple of weeks nagged at him. He just wanted the assurance that, either, there was no fragment, and that it was something else – an adhesion, as the doctor had suggested – or that there was a fragment, which was doing no harm and could stay put. He had heard plenty of tales of gang members, and war veterans, come to that, who lived with metal inside them until they died of old age. He had a vague worry that they'd want to remove it, which he'd probably refuse. As usual, he just wanted to know. Lack of information always made him restive.

Well, he'd pursue it, when he had time. The pain seemed to have gone anyway. He had court the next day, and two new cases to concentrate on after that. And there was still Carol Sangster… And then it was Sunday. Next week then… Maybe…

The next week brought another bikini-clad body.

"The park again?" he asked Frank.

"No, the beach this time. Very public."

"He's taunting us. Killing in full view of other people…"

"If it's the same guy."

"True. I shouldn't make assumptions." But he knew what Tom would find. The marks on the body were identical to Carol's.

Horatio stood in the morgue, looking down at another young woman – very similar, blond Caucasian, late teens or early twenties.

"Kissed to death again, Tom?"

"Looks like it. What a horrible way to go. Wouldn't she struggle, Horatio?"

"I don't know. A lot of what you and I would have considered a gentle and intimate business seems closer to violence these days… Especially when there's alcohol involved… If it's a big guy and a small woman… I really don't know…" He sighed.

"Well, I regret I was rather shy, so I can't speak from much… er… personal experience… but I'm sure I would never have treated a lady so… roughly." The ME stopped speaking, seeming embarrassed at revealing something personal.

Horatio smiled. "I know you wouldn't, Tom." He leant over the body. "What's that?"

Tom examined the area of her chest that Horatio indicated, then lifted a scalpel and made a small incision. "Microchip. One of those 'club' ones?"

"I would think so_. Now_ we might get something!" He held out a petri dish, and the doctor dropped the chip into it. "Thank you, Tom."

He went back upstairs to the labs. They would at least have their ID quickly. He hoped, perversely, that the news of this woman's demise might actually upset somebody. It had crossed his mind that, if no one cared, why was he doing the job at all. He knew it was only a stray random thought. He would always give what he could – his and his lab's skills – to his victims, whether anyone else cared or not. _He'd_ care, perhaps more so when no one else did.

He passed the chip to Eric. "Find Dave – see what he can do with this. ID first, then check her credit card use, if it's there. We might find what she was doing last night. Keep me posted."

The ID came back as Maddy Beckett, with a Miami address. Not a tourist then… He was surprised that she was only eighteen – she looked at least five years older. Horatio rang the number, in case the girl had lived with her parents, but got no reply. It wasn't really a matter to be left in a message, so he rang off, and put Ryan onto tracing next-of-kin. He called the morgue, to give the name to Tom – he had a thing about seeing 'Jane Doe' on a toe tag – then went to see how Dave Benton was getting on with the microchip.

"She paid a cover charge at two clubs last night…" He named two well-known South Beach haunts.

"Okay." He sent Eric to retrieve any CCTV footage from the second of the two clubs.

Now they sat together, watching it. The quality, unfortunately, was not that good, but eventually they saw their victim.

"My God," Eric murmured, "that woman is _wasted_!"

"She is," Horatio agreed. "Let's see if we can keep an eye on her…"

He became increasingly depressed, as he watched the inebriated young woman stagger from partner to partner, until, at around three in the morning, according to the tape, she disappeared from view.

"Okay," he sighed. "Let's pull off pictures of all her partners… See if we can identify anyone."

Eric and Dave managed to produce five shots of unidentified males, but, even using every piece of enhancement technology they had, the images were indistinct. The image recognition software gave them nothing, so Horatio and Eric headed back to the club.

The club owner was less than helpful, and very soon tried Horatio's patience.

"You can't expect me to know everyone who comes in here," he protested.

"I don't. I want two things from you. I want you, and your staff, to look at these pictures and tell me, if not names, then whether they're regulars. And I want a list of all credit card transactions from last night."

"I can't do that. It's confidential."

"Well… Sir… You can help me. Or I can make sure that you're due for inspections from the tax office, ATF… We'll examine your footage for underage drinkers…"

"Are you threatening me?"

Horatio smiled thinly, and looked at Eric. "Catches on quickly, doesn't he?"

Eric said quietly, "Do you want me to go and get a warrant?"

Horatio looked back at the club owner. "I don't think we need one, do we?" He changed his tone. "Look, I'm after a killer, not your club…"

"Who's been killed?"

Eric put Maddy's picture in front of him. "Do you know her? She was in here last night."

He shook his head. "They all look the same to me…"

Eric placed the pictures of the five men on the bar. "What about them?"

"I don't think so."

Horatio snapped, "Look properly! I'm an inch away from taking you down town."

Eventually, he ascertained that two of the men were regulars, but he got no names. Not much wiser, they took the credit card records back to the lab.

"I think we need to put someone in there tonight."

"It can't be me," Eric said. "He's seen me – no way he'll act normally if he sees me again. Ryan'll do it – he's got a good memory for faces."

"Good idea. He's unlikely to strike again so quickly…" Horatio thought aloud. "But if we wait…"

"We could have another dead girl…"

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

PAYING THE PRICE

Chapter 4

Despite Ryan's presence in the club, and that of an unmarked police car outside, they drew a blank.

The next morning, Ryan sounded depressed and tired. "Sorry, H. I could have just missed them. Or not recognised them."

"I don't think that's likely. If they weren't there, they weren't." He glanced at his watch. Six in the morning, and he had just come on duty. "Go home, Ryan. Get some sleep."

"Same tonight?"

"Maybe. I'll let you know."

As he considered his next move, Tom rang. "I've got something for you, H…" He sounded as pleased as if he'd won the lottery.

"What?"

"Human tissue – on her teeth… Very little, but I'm sure your boys can work with it… I've already sent it up. She did struggle, Horatio…"

"She bit him?"

"Hardly even a bite – but scraped his tongue, I think. He wiped her face, but I imagine he didn't know what to do about traces in her mouth, if he even realised."

"Just pray he's on file, Tom. Anything else?"

"No, I'm just going to get her ready for viewing – her parents are coming in."

Horatio sighed. "Bit different from last week… I spoke to them yesterday. They're devastated."

"I don't know why I'm relieved to hear that…"

"I do. Everyone should have someone who cares about them."

"Indeed they should, Horatio…"

He almost bit his nails as the DNA was run. It came up with… no match. Horatio sat in his office, staring into space. So few clues… He picked up the phone. "Eric… come and talk to me. My office."

His young colleague looked worried as he came in. "What's up?"

"Nothing. Dead ends… I'm just not thinking clearly… Talk it through with me."

"Well, we've got his DNA. _When_ we find him, we'll match it. We've got her at the club… although that may not be where she met him… I was looking at her partners again… Two of them are really small weaselly little guys – they wouldn't have been able to do this. So there are three to trace… If it _is_ one of them."

"Have we any sightings of her after the club?"

"One… Very blurry. Near the beach, with a guy… We've only got the back of his head. I can't tell if it's one of the guys at the club, but he's big. Tall and broad. We haven't done anything with the credit card records yet. If necessary, we can contact everybody who spent money there."

"I'd like to narrow it down… We're going to run out of time."

"Well…" Eric thought for a minute. "Let me play with the CCTV again. If I can identify what she was drinking… Who was buying what… Any use?"

"Try, by all means. That tape's pretty rough…"

"Can but try." He stood up. "You look tired…"

"Oh, not sleeping well. And I was in early. And – in ten minutes I've got to go and look after her parents, while they visit their daughter's body." He forced a smile. "What am I going to tell them? That we've got no leads? I feel I'm getting nowhere on this one… And I'm afraid there'll be another body…"

"Let me work on the tape, and the credit cards… I'll keep you up to speed." He hesitated. "We've got leads – they just haven't led us anywhere yet. We _will_ get there, H. When have we not?"

When Ryan reappeared, Horatio arranged for a repeat attendance at the club.

Eric, who was passing, murmured, "All right for some. Call that work?"

"It is. Hard work," Ryan protested. "I can't enjoy myself if I'm watching everyone. And I can't watch everyone without appearing to enjoy myself."

"Very profound!" Eric snorted. "Anyway, I think I can narrow it down a bit for you… Come and take another look at the photos."

"Sorry, Ryan," Horatio added. "It's just work."

"I know, H. I'll do it. I just don't want people thinking I'm enjoying myself." He aimed a mock punch at Eric.

* * *

It was four in the afternoon, and the Crime Lab was beginning to quieten down. Horatio returned to his office. It had been an upsetting and frustrating day. And he didn't feel well. He suspected he was coming down with a particularly nasty strain of flu. Or something. It took a lot to take him out, but this was coming on incredibly fast. That morning he had merely felt lethargic. Now his head felt as if it was stuffed with rags, his eyes wouldn't focus, and he felt chilled, despite the always even temperature in the building.

He didn't want to leave the case, but, instinctively, he knew that if he wanted to drive himself home, he ought to go now. He went into the bathroom and examined himself in the mirror. Very pale… pale enough that people would notice. That was sufficient to make up his mind. Avoiding his team, he simply signed himself out, and headed for his car. He resolved to ring Eric from home. The heat outside hit him as if he was standing in front of an oven. He felt sweat running down his body, even in the time it took him to reach the air-conditioned car. He was beginning to ache – everywhere. He wasn't worried, rather pissed. He rarely caught anything, which tended to mean, if he did, he took it hard. Oh well, home… a dose of Tylenol… bed… and hope for the best. Hope he was fit enough to pick up the case again tomorrow.

It took all his concentration simply to negotiate the traffic and get the car into the parking space. Alternately hot and cold, and with his head swimming, he suspected he shouldn't have been driving at all. He rode the elevator up to his floor, leaning on the wall for support, and made it to his condo without encountering anyone.

Desperate now to lie down, he nevertheless went through his routine of double-locking the door, of putting his weapons and badge in the safe, of checking that the CCTV was working. Then he walked into the bedroom. Fingers shaking as he unbuttoned his shirt, he stripped down to boxers and fell into bed.

He dozed fitfully, then, as it got dark outside, fell into a deep feverish sleep. He remembered little more about that night. Waking, once, head and stomach hurting. Staggering – still on his feet then – as far as the bathroom, and puking his guts up. Hands shaking almost too much to fill a glass with water… Stumbling back to bed… One semi-conscious thought – that this was actually bad enough that he should phone someone. _Didn't really warrant 911… Eric?_ _Alexx?_ But as he felt the top of the nightstand, he realised his cell was still in his suit and he was fairly certain he couldn't reach it without ending up on the floor… Lie still for a bit, and then try… Maybe he'd feel stronger… He didn't remember much else. Just… blackness… nothing…

_A faint smell of perfume… Marisol?_

_Horatio? It's not your time… Not yet…_

_Marisol…_

_Horatio… You look tired, my darling…_

_I am tired. So tired._

_Rest a little then. With me._

_Don't send me back. Marisol… No one needs me… Let me rest…_

_You're needed, Horatio… They need you… You know that._

_I can't. Too tired… Let me stay…_

_Rest a little…_

…_._

_Marisol?_

_Horatio… Go now… You must go…_

_No… Please… They don't need me._

_Eric needs you, Horatio… Eric does._

_Eric…_

_Go, sweetheart. I'll be here. When it's time…_

He heard a phone ringing… somewhere. The floor felt hard beneath his cheek. His eyes wouldn't open… His mind groped for his wife, but she was gone.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

PAYING THE PRICE

Chapter 5

Horatio came to slowly. For several minutes he lay still, eyes closed, trying to make sense of it. In bed… not at home… The smell reached his consciousness first. Hospital…. Then sounds… The insistent bleep of a monitor. He opened eyelids that felt glued together and tried to blink his vision into focus. The room was in semi-darkness… No windows… That, and the equipment, and he recognised not just a hospital room, but ICU. He closed his eyes, trying to remember, but drifting under again.

When he came round again, it was to a nurse adjusting a cannula in his arm. Still confused, he frowned at her.

She smiled. "Hello… Welcome back."

"What…?" He found his voice wasn't working.

"Sshh… Don't talk…" She lifted a cup with a straw to his lips. "Try this – just a sip. It's only water."

He did so, swallowing painfully; his throat was dry and as non-functioning as the rest of him.

"You're in hospital… You've had an operation."

_Operation?_ He couldn't make sense of it at all. He signalled for more water. "Why am I here?" he whispered.

"I'll get a doctor to come and talk to you."

He lay still while a doctor was summoned. Some feeling was gradually returning to his body. He cleared his throat, trying to get his voice back. He felt stiff and disoriented, and numb… presumably from sedatives or analgesics. The doctor sat down beside him.

"What happened?" he asked weakly.

"You were brought in with a temperature of 104… You had a massive infection – do you remember anything about it?"

"No… The nurse s..said an operation…?" It seemed difficult to form words. He wasn't sure whether the deficiency was in his tongue or his brain. Both, probably. He struggled to take in what the doctor was saying.

"You had a hole in your gut… Not much bigger than a pinhead, but the toxins released completely overwhelmed your immune system… You were going into toxic shock."

"Sounds faintly dis… disgusting…" He stumbled over the word.

The doctor chuckled. "Won't be for long. You're recovering. But…" His voice became serious. "You're lucky that you were found… You were looking at major organ failure, ultimately death. But… surprisingly… you seem to have avoided all the complications. You're a lucky man."

"You reckon?" _How lucky did you have to be to end up in ICU?_

"Well, maybe not," the doctor admitted.

"What caused it? A bullet frag?"

"You knew?"

"Sush… Sus…pected." He was having trouble with his S's. He looked questioningly at the doctor.

"You're on heavy sedation – don't worry…. I'll talk to you more later. Go back to sleep. In fact, that's all you should do today. Sleep. You're still fighting an infection."

He closed his eyes, too weary to argue, and unable to muster his usual fight with a body he couldn't feel, and an infection he couldn't see.

A nurse woke him. He sensed it was hours later, but, in truth, he wasn't even sure what day it was. She gave him a drink of water.

"How do you feel?"

"Better, I think."

"Your temperature's almost normal. We want to move you off ICU. Is that okay?"

"Of course."

"You don't have to do anything. We'll move you. And you've got a visitor desperate to see you. Mr Delko?"

"Eric… I wondered where he was," he smiled.

"Oh, not far away. He's been in and out, or on the phone… Are you up to a visit?"

"Eric, I am. No one else." He frowned suddenly. "Was it Eric that found me?"

"I believe so. You know he probably saved your life."

"Not for the first time."

They moved him carefully to a private room. A definite improvement on ICU. No noisy machines. And there was a window. His head seemed to be clearing a bit too. A nurse helped raise him on a couple of pillows, as Eric came in.

He sat down by the bed, stared for some seconds, then murmured, "Oh, H…"

"Eric…"

He said again, "Oh, H… I thought I was going to lose you."

"Come on, I'm tougher than that."

"Yeah? They said… another few hours…"

"Do you want to tell me what happened?"

"Can you remember anything?"

"Not much." Horatio frowned. "I went home on… Wednesday? Thursday?"

"Thursday."

"I didn't feel well. Thought it was the flu. Went to bed… Don't remember much else… How did you…?"

"You missed a meeting on Friday. I called you… You didn't answer. I just had a gut feeling…"

There was a flicker of a smile. "Unfortunate phrase."

"Yeah, sorry. I picked up the emergency keys at the lab and drove round… You were on the floor, unconscious, burning up… That's it really. Ambulance, hospital…"

Horatio nodded. "You know what happened?"

"They told me – not sure they should have – patient confidentiality, etcetera. But they did. Perhaps it was the badge." He reached into a pocket and held out a baggie. "Here – souvenir."

Horatio took it and examined the tiny piece of metal. "Is that all?"

Eric chuckled. "Yeah, doesn't look much, does it? You knew, didn't you? Your war wounds?"

"Not really… Suspected, I suppose… I was going to get X-rayed, but never quite got round to it. It didn't hurt… Just nagged a bit."

"They said it moved… It could easily have gone somewhere harmless, but it nicked your gut."

They were both silent for a while, contemplating narrow escapes. Horatio sighed, his head falling back onto the pillows.

"You okay?" Eric asked quickly.

"Just tired. What day is it?"

"It's Saturday… six in the evening…"

"Right…" He digested the information. "Was my place in a mess?"

Eric gave him a rueful smile and looked away. "I've sorted it."

"I'll take that as a 'yes'." He decided not to pursue the subject. His eyes closed.

Eric said gently, "Do you want me to go?"

"Not particularly. But you've got to have better ways to spend a Saturday evening."

"I haven't, but I think you should rest. I'll come in tomorrow."

"Eric… Thank you."

"For what?"

"Your gut feeling. Saving my life."

It was only after the door had closed, that he remembered he hadn't asked about the kiss-of-death killer. Not that he could do anything about it. He went back to sleep.

* * *

The next morning, he felt better, but everyone seemed annoyingly brisk, while he just wanted to rest. The doctor examined him first.

"You're doing well. I think you should try getting up later. And eating a bit. Your temperature's normal. Your scar's healing. We should be able to send you home in a couple of days."

Unreasonably, Horatio felt his usual resentment for the medical profession rise – 'send you home', 'allowed to leave', 'kept in hospital' – all these normal phrases got under his skin. As if anyone else made decisions for him… But he was forced to acknowledge that this very attitude had put him here in the first place.

The doctor seemed to read his mind. "Give it time, Lieutenant… If you rush things now, it'll put you straight back in here. Your immune system needs to catch up."

He smiled briefly. "Fair enough."

"Your Mr Delko's here…"

"Let me get up first."

The doctor signalled to a nurse. "Give him a hand… and a robe of some sort… Lieutenant – I'm not going to try to tell you what to do, but don't get overtired. Expect to feel weak…"

He did. And dizzy. Nevertheless, he greeted Eric from a wheelchair, rather than the bed. His colleague, unshaven and heavy-eyed, looked as if he'd been up all night.

"You look worse than I feel," he murmured with a smile.

"I've been up since three."

"I hope she was worth it."

"It's not like that. I've been at work."

Horatio raised his eyebrows. "Talk to me. Kiss-of-death man? He struck again, didn't he?"

"Yes."

"Dear God…"

"No, it's not all bad, H. She escaped."

"We've got a witness?"

"Yes. The bad news is that she was extremely drunk." He grinned. "Look, I promised Calleigh I wouldn't involve you in work…"

"If she thinks that'll make me feel better, she doesn't know me as well as she supposes."

"Oh, I think she does. She's just concerned about you rushing things. But this is my case now – she's tied up on that shooting in the Grove."

"So tell me about the witness."

"When I say drunk, I mean _drunk_ – falling-down drunk. I spent half the night trying to get her sober enough to give me something… I've got a first name. Jim - James, I assume – though she's not even sure about that. I've left her to sleep it off, and I'm going to go through the credit cards – see if I can find him."

Horatio smiled. "What are you doing here then?"

"H, I've been struggling for five hours with a girl who was either vomiting, or coming on to me… Sometimes both at the same time. Let's say I needed a break. No…" He corrected himself. "I wanted to know how you were."

"Eric… if he failed, he's likely to go after someone else quickly…"

"I know. I'll go back in a minute. I'm rushing home to freshen up, then go back."

"Get the others in to help."

"Yes, boss."

"All right, Calleigh's the boss… I know." He smiled. "It was just a suggestion."

"I will give you regular updates. I know you'll fret, otherwise… Oh," He reached down for a bag. "I brought you some stuff – sweats, in case you want to get out of a hospital gown. Other clothes. And your cell. But… don't do anything crazy, will you?"

There was a sweetly innocent smile. "Me? Never."

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

PAYING THE PRICE

Chapter 6

It was hard. Yes, the doctor had warned him he'd feel weak… Horatio was shocked at just how weak. His sense of logic told him to expect nothing else – he'd fallen ill more than two days ago, had survived a fierce fever, had been operated on, hadn't eaten… On the other hand, his sense of himself told him he was tough, and he should be able to weather it.

He changed into sweats, to feel a little more normal, but within an hour of Eric leaving, Horatio was lying flat out on the bed.

"You need some nourishment," his nurse said reasonably. "I'll get you something – it'll be baby food, I'm afraid… something easy to digest."

"I think I'll throw up…" he murmured.

"No, you're won't. You're just pushing yourself too hard. Try taking it easy, Lieutenant…"

"Call me Horatio."

She chuckled. "That's a hell of a name."

He smiled weakly. "I guess it is. What's yours?"

"Kathy. Close your eyes – few deep breaths… Stay like that till I come back."

She didn't actually feed him, but she stood over him, as he reluctantly swallowed rice and pureed apple – it really was baby food. He lay back on the pillow.

"Better?"

"No. How long am I going to be eating mush?"

"Not long… Just see how your digestive system reacts to that."

Reasonably well, was the answer. He stopped feeling sick, even if he didn't feel hungry. He was fidgety. He picked up his cell phone, hesitated, and put it down. It was no use chasing Eric. He trusted him to report back when he could. He mentally worked the case. If there were any 'Jameses' amongst the credit card records, then they were halfway there. A line-up, maybe. He was conscious of Eric's emphasis on the witness's inebriated state, but surely she'd recognise her attacker… And they had DNA, at least for Maddy. There was still poor Carol… They'd probably need a confession…

He desperately wanted to do any interview himself. Not that any of his team were poor interviewers. He had, after all, hand-picked most of them. The cream… But he still had nearly twenty years more experience…

Determined to fight off his frailty, he got off the bed. Shaky, holding on to the furniture, he walked once round the room, then went over to the window, and leant on the sill. He craved fresh air, but the windows were sealed. It was a fine day outside. Distantly, between buildings, he could see the glitter of the ocean. He wanted to go home… Surely, sitting on his balcony would be the same as staying here…

His body told him otherwise. Dizziness took him in waves, and his legs were trembling. He got back on the bed, lay down, then rolled onto his left side and curled up. That feeble… It was depressing. For some minutes, he felt nauseous and shivery. He closed his eyes and waited for it to go.

He must have slept. He awoke to someone – Kathy – tucking a blanket round him, and a brief touch of his hair.

"Not good?" she said gently.

"Not good."

"Sleep. I'll get you some lunch a bit later."

He stayed in bed and dozed, then, propped up on pillows, ate lunch – more 'mush', albeit savory mush.

"You hate this, don't you? Being ill…" Kathy said, as she took the plate away.

"You mean I'm a terrible patient?"

"No, not really. There's nothing wrong with trying to beat it. Some people just lie there like a dead fish… waiting to feel well. Some put a bit more fight into it." She chuckled. "You're a bit extreme, I suppose."

"I hate not being able to do things… And we've got an urgent case…"

"The girls on the beach? It's in the papers," she added, at his look of surprise.

"Yep. You see, if we don't solve it quickly, he could… Well, we could see another body."

"And your people can't do it without you?"

"I didn't say that." He smiled ruefully. "I'm not very good at delegating. But, Eric's doing a good job."

"Eric's your second-in-command?" She sat on the edge of the bed.

"Not overall. That's a very beautiful Southern lady… Calleigh… You might get to meet her, if I'm in here very much longer…"

"I can't see you putting up with us for much longer. These girls… all drunk, right?"

"They were. Why?"

"I've just finished my rotation in the ER. We saw them all the time. Too drunk to stand up…" She shook her head. "Guys too, but mostly girls – seventeen, eighteen…"

"Are you saying they asked for it?"

"No, of course not! I just think… their self-preservation mechanism is lacking. I used to go clubbing… and drink… but never so that I couldn't look after myself. And it wasn't worth the hangovers."

"A colleague of mine said the other day 'people are changing, and not for the better'. Different context, but I think he's right." He sighed. "I don't think anyone deserves to be a victim of random violence. I've spent half a lifetime trying to stamp it out. But I've little doubt that it's worse now than when I started." He forced a smile. "Kathy, you're depressing me."

"Now I never meant to do that." She felt his forehead. "Mmm… you're a bit hot."

"Should I be?"

"Horatio…" She hesitated over the unfamiliar name. "There's a war going on inside you. Your immune system versus a serious infection… It's why you feel so rough." She stood up. "I'm going off duty soon, but I'll ask Maria – evening shift – to keep an eye on your temperature. Can't let the bad guys win now." She walked to the door. "I'll see you tomorrow. You just get better for me. I'll give you a bath tomorrow too, if you like." She flashed him a smile, and left the room.

Horatio lay back and smiled briefly. A bath? Well, he thought he'd be up to a shower – without assistance – tomorrow. He picked his phone up and looked at the time – three-thirty in the afternoon. His impatience getting the better of him, he rang Eric.

"How're you getting on?"

"Boss – I was going to call you. Not that I can tell you what you want to hear."

"You haven't got him…"

"Not yet. Couldn't match the name. Kim – our witness - decided that maybe 'Jim' wasn't his name. Could have been 'John'. Or 'Gene'… How can anyone get that wasted! Anyway… She did think that one of the club photos looked like the guy, so we are narrowing it down. Just rather slowly. I'm going through the credit card receipts again."

"You've been up since three this morning…"

"I'm okay, H."

"Are you going to put Ryan in tonight?"

"That club's not open tonight – Sunday… What I thought… I'm going to put as many patrol cars around there as PD can spare… Along Ocean Drive and round about… Just an obvious presence. His favorite club's closed, and that might put him off a random hit. Do you think?"

"What's Calleigh think?"

"That it's all we can do for now."

"Okay. Sounds reasonable. Set it up. Then go home."

Eric chuckled. "Yes, boss. How are you, anyway? I was going to come in…"

"I'm fine. And I'd rather you went home."

"Okay. I _am_ tired."

"I'll keep my fingers crossed for tonight. Talk to me tomorrow…"

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

PAYING THE PRICE

Chapter 7

"I'm not going to get to wash that gorgeous red hair, then?" Kathy teased him gently, as she taped a waterproof covering over the wound in his belly.

"Er… that'd be a 'no'."

"Go on, go and shower. You'll feel better." She became serious. "If you feel dizzy or anything, there's a call button in there… Use it if you need. I don't want to have to pick you up off the floor."

"I'll be all right." Horatio hoped he was correct. He still felt worryingly unsteady, but he also felt dirty and sweaty… not at all himself.

It was early, and he was curbing his impatience to call Eric. He managed to shower and to dress – properly – without falling over, and was sitting on the bed when the doctor came in.

"Can I go home?"

The doctor smiled. "You know I can't stop you…"

"But?"

"But, I'd really like you to give us one more day. Your temperature's been up and down all night. I grant you it's normal now…" He looked hopefully at his difficult patient.

Horatio sighed, then, reluctantly, nodded. "Okay. One more day."

After he had gone, and Kathy had brought him breakfast – 'wow, proper food' – he gave in and picked up his phone.

Eric said at once. "Nothing happened last night."

"Thank God."

"Yeah, thank God… How are you?"

"Okay – one more day in here."

"Oh, good – gives me time to solve this, without you looking over my shoulder."

He said it jokingly, but Horatio realised, with a jolt, that there was truth behind the remark. He was, he admitted to himself, dying to wade in and take over. When he thought about it, it was clear that Eric wanted to work the case alone, to prove he could. _To impress me…_

"Are you going to? Solve it?"

"Maybe… I think I've got a lead. Can I call you later?" And with that, he left his boss to fret.

In fact, he rang little more than an hour later. "I need some advice…"

"Go on."

"How do I find someone I know is in Miami, but I haven't got an address for?"

"What is he? Tourist?"

"Probably not."

"All right… Has he got a credit card? Yes? Well, assuming he's not living on the streets, which is unlikely if he uses a credit card… He's either renting, or he's in a hotel, motel, whatever… So, check his credit card – see who he's made payments to. If you see payments that aren't obvious, then get the bank to help. They'll complain, but get a warrant if necessary. Basically, take his life apart via his credit card. I assume he hasn't got a record?"

"No."

"Driving license? Parking permit? Club memberships? Favorite restaurants? Somewhere in there there'll be an address."

"I'll try."

"You know all this, Eric. Just go logically… and slowly… Very few of us are actually off the radar…"

"Okay, H, thanks. I'll come back to you."

Horatio closed his cell, with a wry grin. He recognised the signs of being on a roll…

Eric bounced into his room around lunchtime, carrying a case file. Horatio raised his eyebrows.

"I wanted to tell you what I've got. And I need some advice – again."

"No problem. Tell me."

"Well, I think I've identified him. I went back through the club records – one James, three Johns, one Gene… but they all had records – minor stuff. This guy's DNA suggested he hadn't – unlikely as that sounds. Then I found a Jean…" He gave it the French pronunciation. "Jean Bouchard. I missed him first time – read it as a girl's name. Actually, once I'd noticed him, he stood out like a sore thumb because his credit card is from the Bank of Montreal…"

"Did you check Immigration?"

"Of course – and found him… about four months ago, on a tourist visa… But he gave his address as a hotel. They said he had stayed there, but only a few days, and the only address was one in Canada… So I went into his credit card and he has been making regular payments, which I thought might be rent. I traced those, and the landlord – rather reluctantly – gave up the details."

"Address?"

"Yep. And Frank's on his way there now…"

"You see? You don't need my advice."

"Ah, but I do. The fact that he hasn't got a record bothered me… You don't suddenly start murdering people… So I thought… he probably has in Canada…"

"We have reciprocal arrangements – they'll tell you."

"I know, but… I'm thinking ahead… Suppose he's wanted there. They'll want him back. Canada doesn't have a death penalty…"

"And we do. Hmm…" Horatio mused. "Have you been in touch with anyone up there?"

"Only the bank. I had to, to get his records. I spun them some story about credit card fraud… Trouble is, it may already be too late. If there's a warrant out on him, the bank may have notified police."

"Whoa… Slow down… First, banks aren't usually that efficient. Second, we haven't actually got him yet. Third, if we do, possession is nine-tenths of the law, and he's in our jurisdiction, not theirs. But last, we haven't even begun to prove he's guilty. You've got a hunch, not much more. Has it occurred to you that he hasn't got a record because he hasn't done anything?"

Eric chuckled. "You know how to burst someone's bubble…"

"Just being realistic. I know how easy it is to get carried away on a single line of inquiry."

"See why I need you? To inject some realism…"

"Let's wait to hear from Frank. Is he going to contact you?"

"Yes." He took a deep breath, and nodded slowly. "So how are you? One more day, you said…"

"I'm okay. Bit weaker than I'd like to be. And… my temperature's been up and down, so they want to keep an eye on me." He shrugged. "I agreed."

"Doesn't sound like you," Eric smiled.

"Well… it's not. But I'm so fed up with this, I thought I ought to get the all-clear once and for all."

"Seems… er… unusually sensible." His smile took any offense out of the remark. He stood up. "Want to go for a walk?"

"I don't think…"

"It's a beautiful day. You look completely miserable. If you'll use that wheelchair, I'll take you outside."

It was on the tip of his tongue to reject any offer that involved a wheelchair. And yes, he probably could _walk_ outside. Except he'd probably also feel so sick and weak that he wouldn't enjoy it. He opened his mouth to protest, then closed it, and shrugged. "Can we have lunch?"

"Are you allowed?"

"I think so. Ask my nurse – the lovely Kathy. There's a good cafeteria on the ground floor."

They sat in the grounds of the hospital, in the sun, eating sandwiches, until Eric's phone chirped. Horatio watched him as he answered, listened, and allowed a smile to spread over his face.

Finally, he said, "Thanks, Frank – I'll be back in half an hour…. Yes, he's here – do you want a word?" He handed the phone to Horatio.

The Texan's drawl was a welcome breath of normality. "Well, you slacker – when you coming back?"

"Soon, Frank, soon. Make the most of it."

"You okay? Sorry I haven't been in…"

"Don't expect it, Frank, and don't want it. Yes, I'm okay. You've got Eric's suspect then?"

"Yeah, send him back, will you? His man's kicking off, but good!"

He handed the phone back to Eric, who closed it.

He said gently, "Look, I'm not trying to put you off this guy… Hunches often pay off."

"Frank said he's big, and he looks like the photo from the club. And he resisted arrest."

"You'll soon know – you've got DNA. And a witness. Just go carefully… Make sure it's watertight."

"What about the Canadians?"

"Don't worry about them for now. Let me give it some thought. Come on, take me back upstairs. Frank wants you."

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

PAYING THE PRICE

Chapter 8

It was Tuesday morning. At least, Horatio thought it was Tuesday. He had rapidly lost track of time. Whatever, it was high time he was out of here. He had a brief word with the doctor – who accepted the inevitable and wished him well, he gave Kathy a quick hug, and he discharged himself.

He walked out of the hospital entrance, carrying a bag of clothes, a supply of pills and wound dressings, and a list of instructions. True, his head swam a bit, and his legs felt shaky, but not so much that anyone would notice. Not so much that he couldn't cope with it. He called a taxi, and headed home. He had intended to ask Eric to take him home, but had got only voicemail when he rang. Anyway, it was unfair to expect the young man to drop everything to answer his beck and call. So he had left a message – 'I've gone home. Call me when you can' – and made his way under his own steam.

He knew he wouldn't start his recovery properly until he was in his own environment. Certainly at home and maybe even at work. It was how he was – hospitals and such disoriented him to such an extent, that recovery seemed impossible. Make everything as normal as possible, and his body seemed to react accordingly.

Five days… The longest he could ever remember being laid up. One or two days were more his mark, and even that was rare. He wondered if it was an effect of getting older. As the PD doctor had unkindly reminded him at his last check-up, he was nearer sixty than fifty. Just… but he imagined his fifty-six year old body was taking more time to bounce back than it once had.

Well, it was over. He unlocked his door and went inside, into the bedroom, to dump the soiled clothes. The bed was made – changed – and he was struck by a faint smell of cleaning products. He put it quickly out of his mind, or he'd become mortified at the thought of Eric cleaning up after him. He opened the balcony doors, letting a slight breeze and the smell of the ocean into the apartment. Then he made a coffee, went to sit on the balcony, and relaxed.

He thought about Eric. He was handling this case well, but he wondered about what seemed to be his colleague's need for his approval at every step. His lack of belief in himself. _Am I that controlling? So hands-on that people are forgetting to use their own initiative?_ He didn't think so. He was much _less_ hands-on than he used to be. And he knew Eric was fully capable of carrying out this sort of investigation. He thought it was more likely that Eric had just decided to keep him fully informed. He sipped the coffee thoughtfully. And he did want to know the progress. He toyed with his phone, but put it down.

After a while, feeling better, he went through to the kitchen and opened the fridge. He disposed of some rancid milk, some moldy ham, and shrimp that looked okay but was past its sell-by date. Normally he relied on his nose, rather than dates, but food poisoning on top of everything else was unthinkable. He considered driving, but wasn't too certain his strength would stand a shopping trip. _Probably not a good idea… _He phoned an order through instead. Then he went back to the balcony and fretfully waited for a phone call.

He was bored. He took delivery of his groceries, but heard nothing from Eric until the evening. And then it was in person.

Eric looked tired – less enthusiastic than the previous day. And he was apologetic. "H… I'm sorry I haven't called. And that I wasn't there to collect you from the hospital."

"Come in. And stop apologizing – you don't answer to me. Well, you do, but not at that level. You don't have to run round after me."

His colleague followed him to the kitchen, watching as Horatio put fresh coffee in the machine.

"Did your hunch not work out?" Horatio asked carefully, wondering at Eric's demeanor.

"Oh, it did. He's the right guy. The DNA matched… but that's _all_ we've got. Kim flunked the line-up."

"She couldn't ID him?"

"She won't come in, won't do the line-up at all. Can I compel her?"

"I don't think you can. You can only force someone into PD if you take them into custody… Can you make her look at a line-up? I doubt it… Have you talked to her?"

There was a rueful smile. "Extensively."

"Want me to try?"

Eric laughed. "You're off sick."

"I won't be tomorrow." He hadn't actually made up his mind until that moment.

Eric raised his eyebrows but said nothing.

"So what else?"

"He won't talk. He denies killing Maddy, though he says he kissed her. Says he knows nothing about Carol. We need a confession. Or something. One DNA sample is a very thin case, especially as it could have got in her mouth from a normal kiss, as he says."

"I agree." He regarded Eric's anxious face. "It's a weak case, legally, but we know it's the right guy, and he's in custody, so we can relax a bit, while we work on it. Well done."

"Don't know about that. And _do_ we know it's the right guy?"

"Follow your gut feeling, Eric. Don't underestimate it. You had a hunch – and you're probably right. Now you – we – need to make the case solid." He looked sympathetically at his colleague. "My fault – I put doubts in your mind."

"As you should have done."

Both were silent for a few minutes. Then Horatio said gently, "You look tired - forget it for this evening. Ring for some food – I'm starving."

"Really?"

"Well… hungry. Better order something bland for me. A red-hot curry might be disastrous."

Eric laughed. "Okay. And you're right – my brain's about ready to explode."

"Tomorrow – we'll go through everything. Plan our next move."

"You sure you're well enough?"

"We'll see."

* * *

Horatio felt well the next day. Not quite completely recovered, but almost. After a gap of nearly a week, he put on striped shirt, dark suit, and retrieved his gun and badge from the safe. He went down to the parking garage and got into his car. He noted the dust on the white Lexus, but he didn't want to waste time going to a car wash.

At the lab, though he tried to walk in nonchalantly, he was greeted like a returning hero. Which was embarrassing. When he tried to walk past Calleigh, with a casual, "Morning," it all broke down.

She took both his hands, gazed at him, murmured, "Oh Horatio…" then drew him into a hug. "Oh sweetheart…"

He protested, but not much. "Hey, Cal… I'm okay…"

When she drew back, he saw tears in her eyes. She sniffed them back. "Look at me!" She let him go, pulled out a delicate handkerchief, and wiped her eyes. "Why didn't you tell us?"

"Tell you what?"

"That you were ill… If Eric hadn't…"

"It just happened. I _wasn't_ ill. It was all a bit sudden, that's all." It was clear that everyone knew the details. Well, not everyone, but his main team. He decided he couldn't really be annoyed. So many times, he had cited them as 'family'. He supposed he'd just have to accept their concern as a consequence. "Look, it was sudden, nasty, but I'm fine now. So… let's get on with some work, yes?" But his voice was gentle.

"You're right. Sorry… Are you going to work with Eric?"

"I am. Unless you need me to do something else?"

"No, I'm finishing up with the evidence on that shooting. Dotting the i's…"

"Okay. Then you know where to find me."

"Welcome back."

He finally made it to his office, put the coffee machine on, and sat down with a sigh. He had not even opened the computer when Eric came in.

"Morning, boss. Are you…"

"I'm fine. Go and collect everything you've got on the case – layout room, ten minutes…"

Eric grinned at him, but took the hint. Horatio was back.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

PAYING THE PRICE

Chapter 9

"Right – let's see your Monsieur Bouchard…"

Eric showed him the mug shots. "Big guy…"

"He is. Those poor girls wouldn't have stood a chance once he pinned them down." He studied the photos. "But… he's good-looking, I suppose… How old?"

"Twenty-four. Do you want him brought over from lock-up?"

"Not yet. We can hold him a while longer. Let him stew. How did Kim get away?"

Eric chuckled. "She threw up on him. Given his… er… chosen method, it probably put him off a bit. She says he was pinning her down, and she struggled. Drunk as she was, she realised something was wrong… She ran, he ran after her, she tripped over – right at the feet of a PD officer. Otherwise… well, even if he hadn't caught her, I doubt she'd have reported it."

"Lucky girl. Lucky us, I suppose."

"Except she doesn't want to ID him. Doesn't want anything more to do with it."

"We'll come to that. Let's look at the three girls separately…"

Eric spread the three photos out. "Very similar…"

"He's obviously got a 'type'. Start with Maddy… DNA… so we know he was with her… Look at his credit card records – was he in the club that night?"

Eric leafed through the papers. "Yes… spent quite a lot… 'Misc. cocktails'."

"So it's probable he met her there. We'll go back to the club later. Now Carol…"

"No DNA. No evidence on the body. But… yes, he was in the club that night too."

"And Kim…"

"Rather vague ID from the CCTV footage…"

"We'll talk to her again too. Get a proper ID."

"I wish you joy with that one…" Eric smiled, then looked back at his papers. "He bought more 'misc. cocktails' that night."

"So everything adds up. And everything's circumstantial." He grinned. "Let's go and see Kim. Tell you what, have a photo line-up made up – maybe she'll do an ID from that."

"She'd still have to go to court later."

"She doesn't know that. Give me a shout when you're ready to go out. I'll be in my office."

"You okay?"

"Pacing myself, Eric… Pacing myself."

Horatio realised, as he walked slowly upstairs, that he was going to have to do just that. He didn't feel ill, but he was painfully conscious that he was still feeling the effects of what had happened to him. His legs were weak, he had a faint headache, and, oddly, he could feel his own heartbeat. Still, if he could just get in visits to the reluctant witness, and the club… Eric would drive… And Bouchard could wait till the next day.

"So what's up with Kim?" he asked, from the passenger seat of the Hummer. "Is she afraid?"

"I don't think so… Not really. She just doesn't want to be involved."

"Well, she'll have to be."

"Believe me, H, I've tried all the arguments." He laughed suddenly.

"What?"

"I've spent more time fending her off. I swear I haven't encouraged her," he added quickly. "I mean, I'm nearly old enough to be her father."

It was Horatio's turn to laugh. "That's the first time I've ever heard you say that. There's a sure sign of getting older. We'll see how she feels about grandfathers."

Horatio was conscious of Eric watching him, either with admiration – or, more likely, amusement - as he turned on, first, charm, then concerned interest, then an appeal to the girl's conscience… at which point, he produced the photo line-up.

"Kim… You'd really be helping us…" He dropped his voice to a growling whisper. "And you don't have to come in… We can do it here…"

Not unexpectedly, she agreed, and picked out Bouchard without difficulty.

"You're shameless – that was nearly a seduction," Eric murmured, as they got back in the car. "And you never mentioned court."

Horatio shrugged. "Might not come to that. We'll do the club this afternoon, okay?"

Back at the lab, he sought out Calleigh. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"In complete confidence… How's Eric been – these last few days?"

"Why are you asking? He's been on the beach girls' case… Has he done something wrong?"

"Not at all. But I thought he was enjoying working the case on his own, and then he came to me with questions that I'm sure he already knew the answers to… As if he needed my backing…"

Calleigh considered. "Well… All I can think… He was completely devastated by how he found you. He was convinced you were going to die."

"This was when I was getting better."

"Even so… Some sort of shock? Or just the need to talk to you?"

Horatio shook his head. "Seems a bit extreme…"

"Horatio… He's devoted to you. When you're here, he knows he's got your backing. Perhaps he's just continuing that." When he didn't answer, she added, "Are you and he all right now?"

"We're fine. It just seemed odd. I wondered if I'd been – I don't know – acting as if I didn't trust him to make his own decisions."

"You haven't, I'm sure you haven't. I don't know, Horatio. I'd let it go… Assume it was something to do with your illness."

He nodded. "Don't say anything, will you?"

"Of course not."

He went back to his office. He knew he should think about lunch, but, honestly, he didn't much feel like it. He drank another cup of coffee, and hoped he'd get through the afternoon. _Doing it again, Horatio… Pushing it… Believing you're tougher than you are… Just who are you trying to kid? _He folded his arms on the desk, and rested his head on them.

He awoke with a start when his phone rang, rubbed his eyes guiltily, and hoped no one had seen him.

"Eric?"

"Wondered if you were ready to go to the club…"

"Yes, sure – see you downstairs – five minutes." He went into the bathroom and splashed water on his face, realising that he had been asleep for over an hour. On the plus side, he did feel better for it.

"So what are we hoping to get?" Eric asked, as they drove.

"Not much, I suspect. Just a bit more info about Bouchard…"

A middle-aged black man stood behind the bar, polishing glasses, when they arrived.

"Miami PD – could we speak to the owner?" Eric showed his badge.

"I'm one of the owners… You want my partner?"

"Not necessarily…" His slight surprise must have shown.

The man smiled. "Oh, you met Randall the other day – he said."

"He didn't say he had a partner," Horatio said.

"He kind of forgets," the man said amiably. "I'm Rufus… Randy likes the money, the backroom stuff. I like it down here – see what's going on… But we are partners. What can I do for you gentlemen?"

"Are you often behind the bar, Rufus?"

"Most nights. Keeping an eye, you know."

Eric took out a photo. "Do you know this man?"

"Ah, Champagne Charlie… What's he done?"

"It's just a line of inquiry. Why do you call him that?"

"Because that's all he orders – champagne cocktails – not traditional ones, which are okay. Liquid Cocaine. That's champagne, vodka, and Red Bull – fairly disgusting concoction."

"Expensive?"

The man shrugged. "His credit card's never complained."

"Tell us about him."

"Don't know much. He comes in a couple of times a week… Has a drink… Picks up a girl… Turns on his French accent. Feeds them Liquid Cocaine."

"He gets them drunk?"

"Dude, it's a club. Most people are drunk. Look, we check their ages… What they do after that is up to them."

"Does he ever get rough with them?" Horatio asked.

"Not while I'm watching, Lieutenant. I see a lot of things, but most of them are legal. We're a club, but we're a pretty clean club, if you know what I mean."

"Fair enough." Horatio pulled over a bar stool and eased himself onto it.

Eric pulled out the photos of the three girls. "Do you know any of these women?"

Rufus examined them. "They're the dead women from the beach? You think he did this?"

"We don't know yet. Do you know them?"

The man sighed and shook his head. "Not that I could say for certain. That doesn't mean they weren't in here…"

"Okay." Eric put the pictures away. "Anything else, H?"

"Don't think so. Thanks for your time, Sir." He stood up and headed for the door, but Eric hesitated and turned back. Horatio stopped and listened.

"Do you have a dress code here?"

The black man chuckled. "Have to, or they'd be in here in the buff. No bare tits. No swimwear. That's about all we can enforce."

"No swimwear – that must be difficult, considering where you are."

"We keep a pile of cheap sarongs – hand them out."

"Do you get them back?"

"Not often… Doesn't matter. They don't cost us much."

"Can I take one?"

"Sure." The man came out from behind the bar and followed them to the door, where he handed Eric a cheap but large square of thin cotton.

"Okay, thank you."

In the car, Horatio looked at his colleague with some admiration. "Dress code?"

"Well – you don't go to clubs, so you wouldn't know… But I know some have started objecting to the acres of bare sweaty flesh – it was starting to put people off… I just wondered."

"And our beach ladies were in bikinis…"

"So – maybe he took trophies?"

"Have we searched his house?"

"Not yet."

"We must do it now, Eric!" Horatio suddenly realised he himself was in no condition to do what would likely be a long search. "No, wait… Drop me at the lab, collect Ryan, and get over there. We need to find what those ladies were wearing. That'll make our case."

They drove back in silence, and Eric parked the Hummer. "I'll go find Ryan…" He glanced back at Horatio. "Where will you be? You going out again?"

Horatio looked apologetic. "I'm going home. Sorry, Eric… Not quite as well as I thought I was."

Eric came back and touched his arm. "Do you want me to drive you home?"

"No, I want you on the case. And I want an update if you find anything."

"You sure you'll be all right?"

"Sure. Just a bit weary… Stop treating me like…" He hesitated.

"An invalid? Well, maybe that's because you are. Or should be." He squeezed his arm. "Take care. I'll be in touch."

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

PAYING THE PRICE

Chapter 10

Horatio drove home, took off his work clothes, and flopped onto the bed, cursing himself – and the fates in general – under his breath. He found it very difficult to accept that an ordinary day at work had taken so much out of him, that he'd given up and come home. Except that, if he hadn't, he thought he might have disgraced himself in public. As it was, he had no doubt his team would be muttering about him, but… could be worse. _Feeble, Horatio… _He sighed, turned onto his side and closed his eyes. There was no way of avoiding it – he felt exhausted. Worse than exhausted… unwell… He had a throbbing headache, a mild stomach ache, slight nausea. It occurred to him that all he'd consumed that day were several cups of coffee… so he probably deserved how he was feeling. He knew he ought to eat. _Later…_

He reached behind him, pulled the comforter round himself, and went to sleep.

He awoke after an hour or so, feeling more or less better. Pulling on a robe – it was early evening, and didn't seem worth getting dressed – he went into the bathroom. He took his prescribed antibiotics, and, out of curiosity, uncovered the operation scar. It was clean and almost healed. He recovered it, and walked into the kitchen, opening the fridge, seeking inspiration. Trouble was, he didn't feel hungry. He closed it again, and went to look out of the window. It had clouded over, and there were spots of rain hitting the glass. Not even the option of sitting on the balcony, watching the ocean…

He was restless. _Too much caffeine, probably… _He sat down and started thinking about the case. Tomorrow, he had to interview Jean Bouchard and he wanted a confession. He always approached interviews without much of a plan, believing they had to be conducted on the wing, as it were. Sometimes he went for empathy… well, pseudo-empathy. At other times, a degree of intimidation. He toyed with asking Frank to join him – no one intimidated quite as well as the big Texan. But it was Eric's case, and it was unthinkable not to involve him. He wished he knew more about their suspect, although he had already formed an impression… A physically big man, who chose his women's drinks for them, who 'put on' a French accent… Not fazed by being accused of murder… So… arrogant… Probably one for intimidation tactics… Or badgering… Ruining the suspect's perceived control… He had an endless repertoire, and he'd only know when he got there.

He phoned Eric. "You still at work?"

"Just finishing. Driving back to the lab. How do you feel?"

"Fine." He brushed off the inquiry. "Did you find anything?"

"We did. Eventually." His colleague sounded triumphant. "One sarong and one short frilly dress. Well hidden…"

"So you'll look for DNA?"

"Of course." Eric chuckled. "But not tonight – unless you want to involve the night shift - do you know what time it is?"

"Yes, sorry."

"Have you eaten?"

"What? No, not yet. Why?" He thought he heard Ryan say something in the background. "What was that?"

"Ryan said neither has he and was I offering. I'll see you later." He cut the call before Horatio could protest.

He felt mildly guilty, but he was nevertheless pleased when Eric arrived at his door an hour later. "You know you don't need to run round after me."

"I know that. It was late – I was going to buy food for myself, so…" He shrugged.

They were silent as Eric put food on plates and followed Horatio into the living room.

Horatio said quietly, "Why are you doing this?"

"Can't imagine."

"I'm serious."

"Well, I know how much it takes to send you home early. Horatio… I wish you'd take more care."

"I can't, Eric. I can't sit here, doing nothing. I just can't."

Eric nodded slowly. "I know. Just eat something – you look terrible."

He found, to his surprise, that he was quite hungry. "You'll make someone a wonderful mother," he murmured. "But thank you – I needed this."

Eric chuckled. "You're welcome."

"Now tell me about Bouchard… What was his house like?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary. Neat, but not obsessively so. Large collection of porn DVDs – the violent sort."

"Makes sense… Where did you find the dresses?"

"Behind a panel in the bathroom. I hope they've got DNA on them… They appear to have – they haven't been washed."

"It should make our case, though I'd still like a confession. You've talked to him… What's he like?

"Arrogant bastard. You know the type… Not impressed by the police. Starts speaking French if the going gets tough. Though his English is as good as yours or mine. " He laughed. "Particularly when it comes to profanities, according to Frank. Definitely thinks he's superior to the likes of us."

"Need to put him right then," Horatio murmured quietly.

"Will you be up to it?"

"You'd better believe it. I'm looking forward to it."

Eric stood up to clear the plates away. "I must go – few errands to do. You should sleep."

* * *

As before, by the morning Horatio felt better. He knew he needed to – this would be a make-or-break interview. He enjoyed such things, but knew he needed to be on top form to do it. He had a sneaking suspicion that his strength would dwindle as the day progressed, so he wanted to do it this morning. First though, he went to the DNA lab.

"Natalia? Got anything on the dresses yet?"

"Jackpot, H."

"You must have started early…"

"Well, a bit. I knew you'd be waiting for it… The girls' DNA ties to the dresses – Carol Sangster's to the sarong, Maddy Beckett's to the little dress… There's a bit of cross-contamination where the clothes have been kept together, but it's clear which is which."

"And Bouchard's?"

"Oh yes… Everywhere… I mean, _everywhere. _A lot of semen… Not just from intercourse – if you get my meaning."

"I do. Thanks, Natalia. Give me the results, photos of the garments, everything you've got."

"Interview time?"

He grinned. "Interview time. Confession time, I hope."

"Good luck."

Horatio sat in his office, going over the evidence, while Jean Bouchard was fetched from the County Jail. Eric came to find him.

Horatio looked up. "Is he here?"

"Yep. He's got a lawyer with him."

"Anyone we know?"

"Public defender – Edwin Small…"

"I've come across him. He's… not very imaginative. Shouldn't give us any trouble. Right." He stood up. "You up for this?"

"Lead on, boss."

Jean Bouchard lounged in his seat, picking at his fingernails. He was a handsome man, although the bored, insolent expression spoiled the effect. Horatio could see his appeal to young women, however. Replace the sullen scowl with a smile…

He sat down. "Mr Bouchard… Mr Small… Good morning." He kept a deliberately bland neutral expression on his face. Eric settled himself beside him. "I'm Lieutenant Caine. Mr Delko you've already met."

Bouchard whispered to his lawyer, who looked mildly irritated, then said aloud, "My client would be more comfortable speaking in French."

Horatio's expression didn't change. "I've a fluent French speaker in my department, so that's not a problem." He made as if to stand up. "I presume your French is fluent, Mr Small?"

"Well, no… But if you've got someone –"

"I'm afraid that breaches protocol. Can't have the same translator on both sides of the table. I'm sure you see." He smiled sweetly. "No worries. We can wait while you find someone."

He got up slowly, watching more whispering going on between client and lawyer. He allowed an extra-long pause to develop, then said sharply, addressing Bouchard, "Or we could just cut the crap, since I know English is your first language." He didn't, but it was an educated guess. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Eric trying to hide a smile.

Bouchard shrugged. "English… French… I can speak either."

_First blood to me… Now the fun begins…_

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

PAYING THE PRICE

Chapter 11

"Right." Horatio pulled a photo out of the folder. "Let's talk about Maddy Beckett."

"I already told your man here…" He waved a dismissive hand at Eric.

"And now you're going to tell me."

"We were in the club, we went to the beach, we kissed, we had an argument, I left. That's it."

"Bit more detail, please. Did you meet her at the club, or did you know her before? How long were you there? What time did you leave? What was she wearing? Did you kiss or did you have sex? Come on, Jean… You can do better than that."

The man sighed as if completely bored. "I met her there. We left at about two. We kissed, we had sex, we kissed some more. She was wearing a white bikini. We argued. I left. Okay?"

It was Horatio's turn to sigh. He looked at Eric, then turned pointedly away from the suspect to address the lawyer. "Mr Small… Will you tell your client that it's a very bad policy to lie to me?"

The lawyer looked alarmed, and more whispering took place.

Horatio let it go on for a minute or so, then said, with a faint edge to his voice, "Do you want to try again? No? Well, for starters, she was not in the club in a bikini. They have a dress code."

"Oh, right – she had a dress on then." The faintest flash of doubt crossed Bouchard's face, though it was quickly replaced by his bored expression.

"So when did she take it off? Or did you take it off?"

"I don't know! We took it off, right? We were making out, man!"

"The dress wasn't there when we found her."

"So someone stole it. Probably whoever killed her." _Unwise comment, Jean…_

"No doubt." Horatio took another picture from the folder. "Is this it?"

"Could be." The man was cool, Horatio would give him that. "I don't remember."

"Fair enough." It was an old and tried technique. Let him know you know, but leave him dangling. With luck, he'd be thinking more about that than his next answers. "Let's move on to Carol Sangster."

"I told him – I don't know her."

Horatio pulled Carol's photo out. "Despite the fact you bought her drinks at the same club?"

"Says who?"

"Your credit card. The barman." He was way out on a limb, but he needed to rattle the man's confidence. "Remember now?"

"Well, maybe. They all look alike."

"Is that a 'yes'?"

"I suppose so." _Second blood…_

"We also have…" Another photo. "…her dress. Was that stolen too?"

Bouchard turned to his lawyer and whispered. Edwin Small looked at Horatio. "Can I have a few minutes with my client?"

"Of course." Horatio bundled the photos back into the folder and stood up. He gestured to the uniformed officer, standing against the wall. "Don't worry about him. He's deaf, aren't you, Benitez?"

"Completely, Sir."

Horatio signalled to Eric and they left the room.

Eric was worried. "Isn't that a risk? Leaving them?"

"I don't think so. I've let him know we've got a case – _he_ knows where those dresses came from. And what's on them. I hope he's suitably unsettled. He's got a right to talk to his lawyer anyway."

"We haven't proved he killed them, you know…"

"I know that. I'll goad him a bit. He may confess, or I may have to bluff."

Eric chuckled. "Well, you're good at that."

"You noticed? Come on, let's get a coffee – he can have five minutes. I think Small will probably suggest a full admission… I've no idea if he'll listen…"

"He's pretty sure of himself."

"It won't last." He knew he could not afford the slightest self-doubt at the moment.

They went back in. The lawyer said, "My client is ready to say that he… associated with both girls… at the club, and afterwards."

"'Associated'…. Interesting choice of word, Jean. Nothing wrong with your English, is there?" He looked intently at him. "Define 'associated'."

"You know… Kissed."

"You like kissing?"

"Of course. Don't you? Well, I don't suppose you get much of that now…"

Beside him, Horatio heard Eric draw in his breath, but his voice was mild as he said, "I have my moments. Thing is, Jean… Kissing someone is supposed to be gentle, a sign of affection… Don't you agree?"

Bouchard shrugged, but didn't reply.

"So," Horatio added, "the marks on these girls' faces… they would be a sign of your affection?"

"I don't know anything about any marks."

Horatio pulled the photos out again, slapping first one, then the other, on the table, and jabbing them with his finger. His voice was suddenly harsh. "Here! And here! Lip marks! Teeth marks! Well, Jean?" _Here's where you deny it, Jean…_

"Perhaps we were a little rough."

"A little rough? So if we took lip and teeth prints from you, they'd match?"

"I guess."

Horatio abruptly changed tack. "Tell me about the arguments." At Bouchard's puzzled look, he added, "You said you left Maddy after an argument…"

"She didn't want sex."

"So you left… Can't quite see a macho guy like you giving up so easily… What about Carol? Did she object to sex?"

"No."

"But you still argued?"

"Yes, I mean, no. I just left."

"But Maddy argued? What about Kim? Did she argue?"

"Kim?" Bouchard looked confused and angry.

"So many women, Jean… So many you can't remember their names. You're a real stand-up guy…"

Their suspect turned to his lawyer. "He's trying to confuse me!"

Horatio spread his hands in a gesture of innocence. "Do we have a problem, Mr Small?"

The lawyer shook his head. Horatio turned back to Bouchard. "So answer the question!"

"Wh… what was it?" The first hint of nervousness.

"What happened with Carol? What happened with Maddy? You're a big man. They were tiny women. Did you force yourself on them? Hold them down? Well, Jean? Big macho guy like you? You wouldn't like to be rejected, I'll bet. So they said no, and you said yes." Horatio's questions were relentless, hassling and hounding the man. "So you kissed them. Hard!"

Bouchard half got out of his chair. "All right! I kissed them hard! They like it."

Eric leant forward. "Sit down!"

The lawyer put a steadying hand on his client's arm.

"How hard? Hard enough to kill them?"

"No!" Then, more softly. "No…"

Horatio also lowered his voice, although his tone was icy. "Jean… We have your teeth marks on their bodies. Yours. No one else's. We have their clothes, in your house. We have your semen all over them… No one else's. There's only one conclusion to draw…"

Silence…

The lawyer leant over and whispered to his client. Horatio turned to Eric, who offered a faint smile and a nod. They said nothing, but did not, this time, leave the room, as lawyer and client conferred.

Bouchard's voice was defeated. "It was an accident."

Horatio gave a small mirthless laugh. "_Twice?_" He stood up. "I'll leave you to give your statement to Mr Delko. Make sure it's comprehensive. Another good English word, Jean…"

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

PAYING THE PRICE

Chapter 12

Horatio felt drained. It was nothing to do with his illness - interviews always drained him. It was the need to stay perfectly focussed, not to lead a suspect, or entrap him; at least, not in any sense that a lawyer could jump on. To decide what evidence to reveal, and what to keep in reserve. And how much to bluff. He was conscious that he'd done that several times during the interview with Bouchard. For example, they _had_ no teeth or lip prints, and couldn't get them, in any form that would stand up in court. He had relied on Bouchard's ignorance of forensic techniques, and his lawyer's reluctance to challenge a senior CSI. He had been careful never to say they had such evidence… Just a suggestion that they could, if they wanted to… He wasn't sure he had actually got a confession, but he was fairly certain it would be in the statement. Hard hard work…

He went out onto the fire escape and leant on the railing, breathing in the fresh air – cleansed by yesterday's rain – and watched the activity below. He loved his job. And sometimes he felt guilty about loving something that almost always arose from someone's death. Still, he knew it had to be done, and he knew he did it well. And so he enjoyed it.

He relaxed for almost half an hour, undisturbed, until he heard the door behind him open.

He glanced round. "Eric… Everything okay?"

His colleague joined him at the rail. "Yes… It's all in writing…" He chuckled. "He wants to do a deal."

"What the hell has he got to deal with?"

"Other crimes."

"Other murders?" Horatio looked at him. "What have we missed?"

"Oh, not here. But one in Orlando… And he _is_ wanted in Canada – as we suspected."

"As _you_ suspected. So what's he want?"

"To be tried in Canada."

"I'll bet he does! Death penalty doesn't appeal, huh?"

"Have you spoken to Canada yet?" Eric asked.

"Not yet… I'd have to look this up, but I think we have the right to try him first, he serves his sentence here, then goes back to Canada and it starts again. But, if we invoke the death penalty… God knows what the protocol is then… Can't see it makes much difference who tries him. He's not going to get out again, even if he avoids the needle. But…" He sighed heavily, "I do not want a diplomatic incident…"

"What do you want to do?"

"Let me talk to the Canadians… Give it some thought… Send him back to lock-up – tell him I'm considering it."

Eric nodded and went back inside. Shortly afterwards, Horatio watched from his vantage point, as Bouchard was bundled, hand-cuffed, into a van, and driven away.

It was no use; Horatio could not talk to the RCMP without seeing horses, red uniforms, big hats… He knew full well that the federal police force of Canada covered all disciplines, that their working uniforms were like those anywhere else, that they were a highly regarded, highly efficient force… It was just an image that lodged, unwanted, in his mind. Every time.

He spoke to a senior officer in Montreal, who immediately remembered Bouchard's name. "We want him for three murders… We almost had him but he gave us the slip… Few knuckles rapped over that… and worse…"

"Well, we've got him on two murders… here in Miami… And he's in lock-up."

"I suppose you want first crack at him."

"Like to," Horatio said carefully.

"You going for the death penalty?"

"I don't know… I wanted to talk to you first."

"That's generous of you, Lieutenant – you have the right to take him to trial."

"I know. He says he'll give us some information if we return him to you." In speaking to his Canadian counterpart, Horatio had reached a decision. "I'm going to try to get him to talk, by taking the death penalty off the table…"

"But still keep him there…"

"I'm sorry."

The Canadian chuckled. "I understand. Bird in the hand, etc.. Just lock him up good – I'll be happy."

Horatio went to find Eric. "Come on…"

Eric followed him obediently. "Where we going?"

"I'm buying you lunch."

"Oh, okay."

Over lunch, Eric said, "What have I done to deserve this?"

"You need to be told?"

"What? Getting you to eat?"

Horatio raised his eyebrows. "Er… no. Solving the case." He stopped his colleague's protest with a gesture. "You did, Eric. You found the suspect, found the witness, knew about dress codes, recovered the dresses…"

"It's what you taught me. It's my job."

"So it is."

"Anyway, I can't do the interrogations like you do."

"Long practice, Eric. There's no other way."

"I suppose not."

"So… Do you want to get some practice this afternoon?"

"Who?"

"Bouchard again. I want his information on the Orlando murder, but I'm not willing to send him back to Canada. You can use the death penalty as a bargaining chip." He smiled at him. "Interview him in jail, and make sure you've got a witness. Can you do that?"

"I should think so."

"Phone the jail, warn him, and see if he wants his lawyer. Take it from there."

"What are you going to do?"

"Actually… I thought I might go home."

"Don't you feel well?"

Horatio laughed. "I feel fine. Bit tired, but an interview like that'll do that to you. But… I think I ought to take a couple of days… I can't keep coming in, then having to opt out early. I might have a weekend away…"

"Wow… Horatio Caine… That's about the most sensible thing I've ever heard from you."

Horatio shook his head. "That's 'the most sensible' thing? I thought I talked sense fairly often… How very depressing…"

THE END


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